


Years Gone By

by keerawa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Episode: s02e02 Everybody Loves a Clown, F/M, Forgiveness, Guilt, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Polyamory, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too late to make things right.  Ellen does what she can with the cards she's been dealt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Years Gone By

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for my dear [](http://elementalv.livejournal.com/profile)[**elementalv**](http://elementalv.livejournal.com/) for her prompt of "forgiveness". Unbeta'd.

Anyone with eyes could see that both boys were grieving. When I mention John’s name, I find out why. Dean, though, he’s carrying an extra weight of guilt on his shoulders. He tries to hide it with a cocky grin, but it looks the same on him as it had on his daddy when he showed up with Bill’s truck and a mouth full of _I’m sorry_ ’s.

Back then I told John to get out and stay the Hell away from me and Jo. Regretted it, later. John Winchester eventually made it back to the Roadhouse. I talked to the hunter plenty of times over the years. But the gentle, passionate man Bill and I had got to know, the one who felt things so deep he couldn’t speak the words – I never saw that man again.

And maybe it’s a little twisted but this; this is how I can finally make it up to him.

Waiting outside Jo’s door to catch Dean when he tries to sneak in. Beckoning him down the hall to my own bedroom. Placing a finger on the boy’s lips when he starts to speak. Undressing him, quick and efficient, and laying him down in my bed, the one that was once big enough for me and two full-grown men. Holding his hips down when he arches up into my mouth, using enough strength so he knows I won’t let him hurt me. Letting him burn away some of what he’s feeling; thrusting and grasping, pulling and biting. Ignoring the tears, since they’re not meant for me.

Afterwards, I hold John’s boy tight and whisper what I should have told him all those years ago.

“It wasn't your fault.”


End file.
